


See the Soul

by Soaring_Ren (Nikolai_Knight)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Depression, Developing Friendships, F/M, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Incest, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 03:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Soaring_Ren
Summary: Shiro saw him.He saw him alone on the roof. He saw him smiling in the rain.He could see Keith everywhere, as Keith sought to bring love to the loveless and restto the restless, and yet no one else could see or hear his presence. Shiro was falling fast for a ghost, but life and death parted them. The veil was too thick to breach and Shiro only knew one thing: he loved Keith.





	See the Soul

“Are you okay, old chap?”

Shiro winced with a nervous smile. He clasped his hands around the steaming mug; the ceramic warmed his organic fingers, while the prosthetic limb simply sat awkwardly giving the impression of a solid ‘grip’, and he closed his eyes to breathe deep the scent of coffee. It provided a strong reassurance, while the heavy pollen from the flowers outside the windows drifted inward. Shiro sat on the windowsill and pressed his head to the pane.

He said nothing, even as Coran came to stand beside him. The white-and-blue uniform of the school nurse clashed with the grey-and-black uniform of Shiro, who always felt self-conscious trapped in a fabric strained against growing muscles, and yet Coran never treated him any differently for his recently returned post. A cool breeze blew in from the open window, while students laughed and played on the lawn below, and someone – somewhere – played an obnoxious tune loud enough to draw ire from Iverson not far from sight.

“I’m still seeing things, Coran,” admitted Shiro.

Coran sat opposite him with a warm smile. The ginger moustache bristled, while he half-closed his eyes and cocked his head to the side, and – with a soft laugh – he reached out to clasp a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, where he squeezed with an affectionate gesture. Shiro moved his gaze back to the quad outside, where Katie could just about be seen next to Matt on a stone bench, both dressed in student uniforms with wide smiles, and behind them . . . behind them . . . that young man dressed in a bright red jacket . . .

“No one else sees him, except me.”

“You suffered a great deal on that research trip, my boy,’ chirped Coran. ‘I don’t know any men who could have taken such a trauma as that! Why don’t we book you in with Allura, eh? I know you’ve had a wee bit of therapy before coming back to work, but never hurts to get a second opinion, right? It could be – eh – post-traumatic stress?”

“Yes, but what happens when I start telling people that?” Shiro sighed. “Teaching’s all I have left in the world, Coran. If I tell them I’m having hallucinations, I’ll be put on sabbatical and it’ll be months – years – before I see the inside of a classroom again.”

“Hmm, well, it’s not interfering with your life, is it?”

“No, not yet,” admitted Shiro.

He looked back to the quad. The boy picked a flower from a tree, where it ‘happened’ to float down between Katie and Matt, and – as they both reached for it – their hands met and a deep blush overcame both sets of cheeks. Shiro brought his coffee to his lips, where he blew long and hard until ripples formed over the surface. He couldn’t bring himself to take a sip; Matt was tucking the flower into Katie’s hair, as he stole a kiss on her forehead, and Shiro knew the world would never accept such a forbidden union. Shiro spat out: “I just don’t trust him.”

* * *

“Hey, you! You!”

The boy flinched on the ledge. He stood on the balcony overlooking the drama studio, where – just outside – a dozen or so students gesticulated wildly with exaggerated expressions, and music drifted through the air while laughter came from the pupils who observed. The boy stood so high above them . . . apart from them . . . alone . . . the wind caught at his black hair, while blue-grey eyes widened on sight of Shiro. He looked afraid.

“I just want to talk,” said Shiro. “My name is Takeshi.”

“I know who you are,” muttered the boy.

Shiro let out a long sigh, as he slowly walked towards the boy. He wore fingerless gloves and a cropped jacket, while his pale skin caught the sun in such a way that it highlighted the tearstains down his cheeks, and Shiro – heart racing, lips dry – walked closer and closer . . . arms outstretched . . . fingers strained against the air . . . the balcony was for teachers only, so that cigarette butts littered the floor. The stench of smoke clung to the air.

He swallowed hard. Shiro struggled to breathe, as mouth ran dry and hands shook by his sides, and – as he glanced over the rails – he knew no one below could see the boy that stood on the ledge . . . swaying . . . swaying back and forth. A few saw Shiro, as they waved up at him with smiles. He moved more central to the balcony, just out of sight of people on the ground floor, but still in sight of the boy, as he threw his hands upward in mock surrender. A broken smile graced his lips, as the boy turned around to face him.

Shiro’s stomach churned.

He was handsome. He could have easily have passed as a supermodel, except for a disconcerting red gash on his forehead and an eye pure red from blood, and his tears ran like crimson down his right cheek. Bile burned the back of Shiro’s mouth. It was horrifying to see what looked like bone beneath flesh, as well as the paleness to his skin, and Shiro grew lightheaded with a cold chill, as he fought back an urge to run. The boy still swayed on the railing, looking down at him on the balcony with new tears. The boy whispered:

“You abandoned me, Shiro.”

Shiro blinked away tears, as a shuddered breath escaped his lips. The drama students continued below with loud cries and shouts, while a ruler was loudly slammed onto a white-board in a maths class below, and the world around them went on without any idea how close the boy came to falling from the ledge. Shiro stepped closer. He wanted to reach out and grab that gloved hand, but he had no idea how the boy would react. Shiro observed:

“We’ve – We’ve never met.”

“No, I know you.”

“I’m sorry, but we’ve never met,” swore Shiro.

“You were so lonely,” said the boy. “You came all the way from Japan, right? I used to hang onto your every word. I – I didn’t have anyone else, but I didn’t need anyone else, because I thought . . . I thought we could be friends. You – You went on your research trip. They told me you were _dead_ , Shiro. We had a memorial for you! I was . . . lost.”

“We all get lost from time to time, even me.”

Shiro smiled and let out a long sigh. There was finally a connection; he kept a few feet away from the boy, although close enough to snatch his wrist should the need arise, and allowed his heart to slow even as it sounded in his ears. The boy hunched his shoulders, while his hands hung limply at his sides, but his eyes looked focused and sharp. It was a surprising level of clarity. They stared at a fixed spot before Shiro, as if analysing every last detail of the situation, and it gave Shiro hope . . . hope to save him . . . Shiro asked in a slow voice:

“What’s your name?”

The boy spun around. He stood on tiptoe, swaying in the breeze . . . a cold sweat broke over Shiro’s body . . . _a sensation of ice water poured over flesh, uniform clinging to his skin, breath knocked from his body until he struggled to so much as choke . . ._ he watched as the boy swayed and smiled and how his hair blew in the breeze. He meant to jump. Shiro grew more and more lightheaded, as the inevitable dawned over him. A tear pricked at his eye.

“No,” whispered Shiro. “No! _No_!”

Shiro dived forward, but it was too late. _He jumped_. Shiro caught the sensation of leather on his fingertips, as the jacket just brushed past his hand, but the boy was falling . . . falling . . . _falling_. . . cold terror swept over Shiro, as he flung himself against the rails. The metal knocked the air from his lungs, as he coughed and spluttered and reached down with all his strength, even as pins and needles struck his digits. Tears raced down his cheeks, while he watched the boy get closer and closer to the ground. It was too much . . . too wrong . . .

“ _No_!” Shiro screamed.

* * *

Katie giggled next to Matt.

They sat so close that thighs touched, while Matt draped his arm around her shoulder, and – while the embrace looked platonic to most – Shiro saw how Matt’s fingers traced circles around her upper arm, as he licked at his lips and eyes fixated on her cheeks. The bell for lunch rang in the distance, enough that Shiro winced as he stood limply beside them, while he strove to hold back any criticism of their intimate relationship. He drew in a deep breath.

The boy could be seen just on the other side of Katie. He cast his eyes from side-to-side, while pouting at Shiro with plump and wet lips, before – with a blush – he slid a letter inside the bag by her side that was written with something like _‘to my love’_. Shiro bit his lip until his tasted iron, half-tempted to chastise the boy for interfering, but . . . _they looked so happy together._ Matt smiled until it brought creases to his eyes, while Katie looked on the verge of tears from laughter. They would have been a cute couple, if things were different.

Shiro scratched the back of his neck, as he breathed deep and stepped closer. They both looked up at him and parted with a blush to their cheeks, while Katie adjusted the collar of her uniformed shirt and Matt crossed his legs, and – with a small chuckle – Shiro waved to them and shrugged. A group of students darted by with loud giggles; he caught a few whispered comments, along with murmured complaints, but he ignored them to ask:

“Matt, can I ask you a favour?”

“Sure thing, Sir!”

Shiro struggled to keep his eyes open. He knew the gossip around the school, which was that he was losing his mind and calling out to people no one else could see, and it was taking his toll with bags under his eyes big enough to fit luggage. Shiro rubbed at his bloodshot eyes, as he faked a smile that soon turned into a yawn. The spring air was warm and brought a sticky sweat to his skin. He tried to avoid the gaze of the boy in his peripheral vision, as he said:

“Iverson told me you know a lot about this school?”

“My brother knows _everything_ about this school,” chirped Katie. “You only have to mention a name and he can probably tell you when they graduated. He _used_ to tell me he had a photographic memory, but turns out he’s just an A-grade hacker. Isn’t that right, Matt?”

Matt blushed and buried his head into his hands. Shiro let out a long laugh, all too familiar with Sam Holt’s coded messages and encrypted emails, and – clearly – his technological knowledge was being passed onto Matt and likely Katie in turn. The silence between them was awkward, broken only by the cheers from a football match in the distance, while Shiro tried to avoiding staring too hard at the boy who leaned down between Katie and Matt. He couldn’t be seen to be staring into space. Matt coughed and muttered:

“If Iverson asks –”

“I’ll tell him you have a good memory, that’s all,” laughed Shiro. “Still, I wanted to know if anything . . . _weird_. . . happened in the school. I know they’ve been ghost stories for as long as Iverson’s been here, especially about that old staircase in the tower, but do any of them have any basis in reality? I mean . . . did anyone actually die here?”

“Ooh, you’re looking for ghost stories?” Matt winked and gave him a finger-gun. “I got your back, Sir! This building has been here since the sixteenth century, so you have no _idea_ how much stuff has gone down in that time! They say a boy fell to his death not long ago.”

“How long?” Shiro asked. “How long ago?”

“Er, last century, I think? The story goes that he was walking to class one day, but he used to be badly bullied and never fitted into any clique. I hear some people say he was pushed, but other people say he tripped, and some even say it was suicide. No one knows. Still, that’s why the English department holds ghost-hunting sleepovers there.”

Shiro let out a long sigh. He looked to the boy who stood straight with folded arms, and – with a large grin – the boy cocked his head to the side and shrugged, almost mimicking Shiro’s earlier gesture with a great deal of arrogance. The faux-leather jacket was red-and-white, while his mullet hairstyle was clearly filled with product, and Shiro knew there was no way he died during the previous century. Shiro clenched his fists and asked:

“What about when I was – ah – away?”

A cold silence descended between them, while Matt turned deathly pale. The boy between them curled his lip with a snarl, before he turned heel and stormed towards a copse of trees and finally out of sight, and – as Katie followed Shiro’s gaze with a raised eyebrow – he clenched his fists until nails dug into his palms. Blood dripped down. He was caught between irritation and attraction, half-wanting to see what had become a constant companion and glad that he was finally gone. Matt let out a long sight, breaking his train of thought.

“Keith died,” whispered Matt.

Shiro stumbled. He knew there was a lot they the staff hadn’t him, but . . . _a boy always lingering after class to ask questions, his essays always handed in early, always attending every study session and revision class even when not needed_. . . the blood and wound on his forehead made him look strange, but the resemblance was there. Iverson likely sought to protect him, but the revelation was cold and harsh and hurt his chest.

Katie was on her feet, guiding him to sit down, but the panic was already settling in . . . _struggling to breathe, heart racing, mind swimming_. . . he was almost back there . . . Sendak, Zarkon . . . he forced himself to breathe long and hard, while his eyes watered and his lips trembled, but it was difficult to focus. He caught Katie ready to race to the staff room, but quickly caught her wrist and shook his head. Shiro feigned a bright smile, as he turned to Matt beside him and gathered all his courage to ask two simple words:

“Keith Kogane?”

“Yeah,” said Matt. “He – He had behavioural problems; I heard he was autistic and struggled with social communication, but he was also abandoned as a child by his mother, so – according to the records I hacked – he has _real_ abandonment issues. He pushes people away so he never has to worry about being unwanted or . . . left. I think he was coping okay, but then his dad died and records say he started turning to self-harm. He lived alone.

“Iverson said he idolised you, even had a pretty intense crush. You went away on that research trip to the middle east, ended up captured by Zarkon, and – and – and we thought you were _dead_ , Sir! He took it pretty hard. We heard Iverson had a word with him, but he was too overwhelmed . . . couldn’t process all the stimulus . . . he – he _hit_ Iverson.”

“What do you mean he _hit_ Iverson?”

“Just, you know –?” Matt mimed a punch to his face. “Iverson suspended him. He told Keith he was looking at an expulsion and not to come back, but that was the last straw for Keith . . . next thing anyone knows -? He broke onto the teachers’ balcony, before he jumped off the ledge and landed onto the patio below. They couldn’t resuscitate him.”

Shiro laughed through his tears. He noticed over the few weeks how Keith avoided being touched by others, how quiet and timid he seemed, and how he lashed out over the slightest perceived insult . . . he noticed the blood trickling from his wound, he noticed the smile whenever he looked toward Shiro . . . Shiro held back tears. There was no way he could break down in front of his students, even as bile rose to the back of his throat. Shiro whispered:

“He’s dead?”

A stab of guilt ripped through him . . . _‘I should have paid him more attention’, ‘I should never have gone on that trip’_. . . the tears rolled down his cheeks, where they dropped onto his lips and tasted salty against his tongue. He lost an arm in his months in captivity, while the flashbacks and nightmares still haunted him, and now he lost his number-one student who relied on him more than he even realised. Shiro struggled to keep his heartbeat in check, while he panted for breath and grew lightheaded with the pressure, as Matt choked out: “Yeah, Keith’s dead.”

* * *

“You had no right to talk to them!”

Tears streamed down Keith’s cheeks. He leaned over Shiro’s desk, with hands clenched at his sides, and – afraid of being seen as if talking to no one – Shiro swore and ran around to the door, where he quickly peeked outside into the hall. Katie stood by his classroom door, where she waved with her homework in hand. It wasn’t long until class. Shiro blushed red and waved back, while he listened to Keith pace behind him, and closed the door shut.

He locked it just to play it safe. The office was not much different even after his months away, still stacked with boxes that needed to be unpacked and piles of papers that needed to be sorted, and it was a mild embarrassment after two years total on the job. The open window allowed in a heavy breeze, which caught at the exams on his desk that waited to be marked, while the tree outside was in full bloom and small blossoms drifted through the air, and Keith – using all his focus and concentration – took one and crushed it in his hand. Shiro said:

“You’ve been haunting them, Keith.”

“So what?” Keith spat. “They’re happy, aren’t they?”

Keith swept his hand across the tray of paperwork. Shiro shot out his prosthetic arm with a slam on top of the pile, so that the contents wouldn’t be scattered everywhere, but he knew that there was no way he could compete with a ghost. If Keith wanted to scream and cry, destroying his office in the process -? Shiro could only let out a long sigh and wait for him to calm down, hoping that he didn’t break anything irreplaceable in the process. It was obvious Keith wanted to remain a distant memory. He didn’t want Shiro to _know_ his identity.

The students were lining up outside. One tried the handle of his door, before they knocked and called inside, but then there was silence again while they gossiped and laughed with one another, unaware of Keith’s pain and anger just a few feet away. He listened as Keith let out choked sobs and audibly swallowed, before he came as close to Keith as he dared and raised his hands in mock surrender. Shiro said in an absolute whisper:

“You know they’re –”

“I know,” muttered Keith.

“Do you know what it’ll be like for them?” Shiro winced. “They won’t be able to get married. They won’t be able to both be parents. They will live in fear every day of people finding out, because if people find out then it puts them at risk. You can’t keep slipping them love letters from one another or raining down petals from the sky! It’s too dangerous.”

“They’re happy, though! I – I pushed Katie once, from the bottom few steps, and Matt caught her just so perfectly . . . they held each other, they blushed, they smiled. They thought it was romantic that he caught her just like something from a romance movie.”

“Sure, it’s romantic now, but what about when they’re older?”

“They say ‘love conquers all’. I hear them.”

Keith folded his arms with a pout. It brought a long sigh from Shiro, who appeared to be the only person Keith displayed any emotional vulnerability, but it was so easy to draw from him rants and tantrums and aggression, as if he lived permanently on edge. Shiro instinctively reached over to him. He tried to place a hand on Keith’s shoulder, but his hand moved through him as if through air. It left a strange sensation . . . _cold, tingling, static_. . . Shiro bit his lip and removed his hand, as he locked eyes with Keith and asked:

“Is this all you’ve done?”

“No, I once whispered stuff about how hot Matt looked,” admitted Keith. “I was standing by Katie and it took all my concentration, but he heard it and he blushed. I once made her wake up from a nap in the library, but right as he leaned down to brush some hair from her face, and I once sprayed her with his favourite scent, so he kept leaning in to smell her hair. They were into each other anyway, but they were _so scared_ to admit the truth.”

“You’re playing with people’s lives, Keith.”

“I know what it’s like, Shiro! I – I used to really love you, but I knew you couldn’t see me as anything more than a student . . . I’m seventeen, not a dumb kid like Lance, but you only ever saw me during study sessions or classes or meetings, and I just -! I just wanted you to _see_ me for me, because I loved you . . . even if it was against the rules, you know?”

“I – I do remember you, Keith.” Shiro ran a hand over his face. “I can’t say I ever thought us that close, but I remember one time you said I was like a brother to you, and . . . it _touched_ me, especially when I felt so alone and started to wonder if I was actually helping anyone here, and you gave me strength to carry on. I won’t lie, as you are attractive, but you were a student and I was a teacher, and people would have judged us badly to say the least.”

“It’s – It’s why I wanted to help them. I want them to . . . to . . .”

“You wanted them to be happy, because you couldn’t be?”

Keith winced, as he moved toward the window. He appeared undisturbed by the light breeze, but the sun caught his face and cast shadows on his features, as he tilted back his head with a smile that made something stir deep inside Shiro. A few petals blew through him, landing on an old photograph of Katie and Matt given to Shiro a while back, and – in the distance, behind the glass – he noted that he could be seen showing Keith around the school, something that felt innocuous at the time and more intimate now. He smiled.

“I can’t be with you now,” whispered Keith.

“No, but we can still be friends. You don’t have to be lonely.”

A low hum of contentment escaped Keith’s lips. He turned around, while wearing a smile both out of character and yet so natural, and he reached out toward Shiro with fingers outstretched and arm straining over the distance, while Shiro reached back with tears in his eyes, desperate to make contact. A touch of their fingertips brought a spark through Shiro, as he jerked back his hand with a flush to his cheeks and lips parted with a sigh.

Keith brought his hand to hide his mouth, while he laughed and walked around the table to press a chaste kiss to Shiro’s lips, which tingled and stung in an indescribable manner, until Shiro reached up with a trembling hand to the spot where contact was made. The silence between them was broken only by the school bell, which signified the final lesson of the day, but Keith was already by the door . . . _half body through to the other side, half body inside lingering with an eerie stillness_. . . Keith looked back to him and whispered: “Thank you, Shiro.”

* * *

“Tough day?”

Shiro laughed loudly in response. He sat on the cool stone tiles, while he leaned back on the brick wall with legs stretched out before him, and – as he looked up to the sky above – a spray of light rain refreshed his face and dampened his hair. The students were quiet on their lunch-hour, as most remained in the cafeteria or classrooms to avoid the rain, while the teachers inside the staff room behind him gossiped loudly behind closed doors.

He sat beneath the window out of sight, with a plastic box beside him that stored sandwiches and a juice drink from home, and watched as Keith sat opposite him with crossed legs and a half-smirk that only made him look more attractive. Keith struggled to hide his concern, which only worried Shiro in turn . . . _unable to hold him, unable to touch him_. . . Shiro picked at the damp bread with a lazy touch, as he bit his lips until small cuts formed. It was difficult to still his racing heart, as a cold sweat overcame him and dizziness soon followed.

It was lonely on the balcony. He listened to some of the students playing rugby on a far field, where a few others would stand with umbrellas to watch, and pop music played from a classroom below, where the window was open and a teacher laughed. The world went on without him, as if he were no more alive than Keith, and he soon looked down at the tiles beneath him with a frown, as a lock of white hair fell into his eye line. Shiro whispered:

“I had to give Katie a detention.”

Keith hummed and cocked his head to the side. The rain fell through him, so that his skin was untouched and unblemished, although the wound on his head was half-formed and seeped an uneasy amount of blood. Shiro winced, as he noted the wound always seemed to vary in intensity and damage. He said nothing as Keith crawled to his side, sitting against the wall with head angled upward to the sky, and he attempted to rest his head on Shiro’s shoulder, only to pull away with visible tears pricking in his eyes. Keith asked:

“How come?”

“I caught her passing notes to Matt,” said Shiro. “I would have made her read them out to the class, but they were pretty explicit and I had to pretend that I wasn’t blushing because of what she wrote, but . . . I forgot what young love is like. Did you know the last relationship I had was back in college? I’m twenty-five now, and you’re the closest thing I have to a boyfriend.”

“That would mean a lot more, if you didn’t insist I was a figment of you imagination.”

Shiro laughed again, as Keith pretended to nudge him. The wink in his eye was almost endearing, but it was only a constant reminder of the barrier between them, and Shiro – as his eyes watered – longed to lean towards Keith and press his lips against him. The sun broke through the clouds, bathing them in a warm light, while the music below veered into a cheesy love ballad, and Shiro struggled to breathe through his racing heart, as his stomach grew heavy and his muscles started to ache. He forced a trembling mile and asked:

“Would I have noticed you, if you were still alive?”

“I don’t know,” muttered Keith. “Maybe?”

“I _need_ someone to talk to so much.” Shiro winced. “I endured a lot in those four months in captivity . . . I worried I’d never come home . . . I know a hug won’t fix the emotional trauma and physical wounds, but it’d be a start, wouldn’t it? I go home and I’m alone. I come to work and I have to be strong. Where can I just let go and be held?”

“I know how that feels. I used to be _really_ sensitive to skin-on-skin contact, so I would wear these fingerless gloves, and I _hated_ being claustrophobic and people would never respect to let go when they held me, so . . . I just never touched anyone. I wanted to be touched, but no one could understand by boundaries. It’s like being starved, isn’t it? You long for someone to hold you and stroke your hair and tell you it’ll all be okay, but . . .”

“There you are alone, crying yourself to sleep.”

Keith smiled a weak smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, while the awkward silence between them only added to the growing sense of distance, and – desperate to feel some kind of connection – he slowly slid his hand towards Keith’s beside him. Keith blushed and slid his hand in turn. The moment drifted into an eternity . . . each man moving closer and closer, time going slower and slower . . . Shiro’s heart raced so loud that it pounded in his ears. He swallowed hard, but his mouth ran dry, and he moaned as he leaned into Keith.

He parted his lips with a half-smile, but the moment was broken. _Their hands could not touch_. Shiro looked down to see Keith’s hand halfway through his . . . not quite together and not quite apart . . . a cold chill ran down his spine, as his fingertips tingled and his hand grew numb, until Keith pulled his hand away and clasped it to his chest. A tear ran down Shiro’s cheek, masked by the rain and dropping onto his trembling lip. Shiro said with a laugh:

“At least together we aren’t alone, right?”

“I can’t leave the school grounds,” said Keith. “You have to go home some time, which means that I’m here wandering around the dark. I used to be a straight-A student, so some nights I do the homework for students who struggle or leaving encouraging notes, but . . . we have to be alone sometimes, and what’s to stop the pain from coming back then?”

“I find thinking of you stops the pain. It numbs it, at least.”

“If I could go with you, Shiro . . .”

Keith closed his eyes and smiled. Shiro returned to picking at his bread, while he looked across the balcony to the cityscape beyond, and – with a long sigh – he saw the dozens of lights from cars and windows and devices, as the world beyond brimmed with life and Keith sat beside him nothing more than a ghost from the past. The rain continued to beat down on them, while they sat both alone and together. Shiro let his tears fall free.

* * *

Iverson slammed shut the door.

Shiro jumped awake in his office chair. He struggled to see through blurred eyes, while a spot of drool lay half-dried on his chin, and – as the world buzzed in and out of focus – he swayed dizzily where he sat with murmurs of confusion. A piece of paper was stuck to his cheek; he wafted it away, while it floated to the floor with a loud rustle, and he ran his hands over his face as he collapsed back into his chair with a yawn. The clock ticked ever louder.

A glance to the clock revealed it was early morning, which meant he slept the night in his office and broken probably several school rules in the process, and looking at Iverson . . . it was clear he was concerned. Shiro winced. He pulled at his uniform, now creased and stained and a little funky smelling, and licked at his lips to realise his eyes stung from having cried himself to sleep, while he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. The scent of sweat hung heavy in the air, while Iverson let out a long sigh and stalked over to the desk.

“Shiro, you need to speak to Allura.”

Iverson pressed his knuckles to the wood. The way his eye widened revealed a deep-seated concern, while his lips were pursed into a tight white line, and Shiro could only look away . . . too afraid to see the fear lest he feel deep shame . . . Iverson hunched his shoulders and poked at the incomplete paperwork with a sigh. It took all Shiro’s strength not to break into tears, as he strove to maintain eye-contact and stop his lip from trembling, and he feigned a smile and waved a hand in a half-alert manner, as he chirped out in a broken voice:

“It’s good to see you, too, Iverson.”

“I mean it,” muttered Iverson. “The students have complained they’ve seen you talking to yourself, while I’ve had teachers report that you’re getting more and more isolated, and – honestly – you’re our _best_ teacher, Shirogane! I don’t want to see you losing your mind, because you survived so much . . . don’t let Zarkon win, not now.”

“I – I’m not suffering from post-traumatic stress.” Shiro ran his hand over his face. “I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s – It’s probably just a depression, but I keep seeing everyone else so happy and so content, and I get . . . _jealous_. I want what they have, but here I am on the outside looking in, and the _one_ thing I’m starting to want is the one thing I can’t have, and it’s just starting to mess with my head. I’m getting nightmares, flashbacks, mood changes . . .”

“That sounds pretty much like PTSD, Shiro.”

“ _It’s not PTSD_!” Shiro screamed.

The room went deathly silent.

Shiro opened his eyes wide, while lips parted and cheeks paled. The outburst hung heavy in the air, while Iverson stood back with a frown that creased his forehead, and the two of them stared at each other unsure how to proceed. Shiro pushed back his chair, as he stood shakily to his feet and brought a hand to cover his mouth. Tears pricked at his eyes. They stung with the sweat and blurred his vision, while a hard lump formed in his throat, and – as bile burned his tongue – Iverson reached out and clamped a hand on his shoulder. Iverson started:

“Shiro, Coran also works alongside Allura and –”

“Did you know Keith killed himself?”

“Of course I knew,” muttered Iverson. “Is this what this is about? _Shit, Shiro_! Matt Holt came to me a few weeks back, said you nearly had a breakdown asking about an old suicide, and the librarian mentioned you’ve checked out books on ghosts and haunting and –”

“I’m not going crazy,” pleaded Shiro. “I just wondered what drove him to kill himself, because he seems – _seemed_. . . I don’t know . . . what drives a person to _do_ that? I always assumed I would come back . . . _if_ I came back . . . to – well – all the students I left behind, but instead Keith is gone and I – I – I didn’t even _notice_ until someone told me! I thought maybe he graduated or -! Oh God, is that why he did it? I – I didn’t notice him . . .”

“Shiro, you’re fixating on Keith to distract from your pain. Keith was a messed up kid; mom abandoned him, dad died, mental disabilities, poverty . . . even if we all somehow contributed, you can’t go back and time to save him. Why not instead work on helping the students here and now that need you? We can donate to some charities or maybe set up a memorial.”

“It’s not enough, Iverson! He’s dead and I’m alive. It’s. . .”

“It’s what, Shiro? It’s what?”

Shiro slammed his hands hard onto the desk. Iverson pulled away with a hiss of breath, before marching behind him to the windows, and he soon threw them open with a creak of wood, while they clattered against the brick wall. The cold air drifted inside; no students could be heard, but the birds chirped with an incessant volume and Shiro hissed as he covered his ears and scrunched closed his eyes. Iverson placed a hand on his back.

“It’s just too much,” admitted Shiro.

The boxes strewn across his office floor appeared to have doubled, with piles of paperwork scattered about his desk and the sofas, and – as he swayed where he stood – he noted that dust was gathering in places and the carpet was stained with dirt. He let out a broken laugh. Iverson guided him into his chair, while fussing about his desktop and moving some old mugs to the coffee-machine, and soon the scent of coffee flooded the air and the loud noise echoed about his senses. Iverson slid a hot cup in front of him and whispered:

“Take some time off, Shiro.”

“This is the only place I can be close to him,” muttered Shiro. “If you want me to talk to someone, I’ll talk to Coran and I’ll regularly attend therapy sessions, but . . . don’t take him away from me Iverson, please? I can still take my classes. I’m still a good teacher.”

“One of the best,” whispered Iverson. “Speak to Coran?”

“Yeah, I’ll speak to him. Tomorrow.”

Iverson flinched and stepped away. The fear and doubt was writ across his features, while his lip curled and his hand trembled by his side, and Shiro knew . . . _he knew_. . . Iverson was afraid to be alone with him. He watched as tears streamed down his cheeks, as Iverson struggled to navigate the maze of boxes to the office door, and worse – _even worse than the fear_ – he knew Iverson pitied him . . . Shiro was lost, broken, fragile . . . the door opened and closed, while Shiro gasped for breath and laughed and choked out: “Tomorrow . . .”

* * *

Keith stood before the railing. He kept a few feet from Shiro, who rested his elbows on the rail and buried his hands into his hair, and – as he struggled to breathe – Shiro looked down at the patio below where the rain washed over the stone slabs and turned them from a light grey into something far darker in shade. The rain struck over his body and soaked his uniform, until it clung to him like a second-skin. It emphasised the change in his physique.

The majority of students were in class, which left only a few stragglers for morning lessons outside the main buildings, and none of them appeared to look upward, even as they scurried to and from with frantic movements. No one looked upward once. Shiro let his lip tremble, as he choked down desperate gulps of air, while he pictured Keith alone on the balcony . . . _afraid, devastated, helpless_. . . it would have only taken one person to save him. Shiro was unaware of his depression, unable to help him in his despair. He asked in a broken voice:

“Did I drive you to kill yourself?”

Keith stumbled back, as the rain washed through him. He paled despite a physical form, while his hands trembled before his face, and – for a brief second – he expressed a terror almost as deep as Shiro’s despair. Shiro choked on air, as bile burned the back of his throat, and reached out through the air in hopes of touching that white cheek, only for a familiar tingle to brush his fingertips as his hands moved through that comforting form. The loneliness struck again, as Shiro pulled back with heavy sobs and blurred vision.

“What?” Keith flinched. “No! Your presumed death was just –”

“The straw that broke the camel’s back?”

“Look, do you know what depression’s like for me? It was at a point where I didn’t even _feel_ sad, but this constant numbness and emptiness. I saw pain and suffering everywhere, while nothing felt original or interested me, and every day was such a chore. . . I just wanted to feel something. It was like I was sleeping and couldn’t wake up . . . nothing was real, nothing mattered, and I was always so _tired_. Your ‘death’ just made me go ‘fuck it’.”

“The more time I spend with you, the more I feel what I want is _just_ out of reach.” Shiro let his lip tremble with a sniff. “The more time I spend without you, the more I think that there’s no one else out there for me. Coran thought I was mad from the start, so did I for a short while, but with you -? I feel sane for the first time in a long time.”

“You know, I regretted my choice at the end,” muttered Keith. “I threw myself from the balcony as I was _desperate_. . . I saw no way out, I saw no alternatives . . . I was trapped, claustrophobic, overwhelmed . . . still, I thought about you until the last.”

“You thought I was dead. You didn’t know.”

“Yeah, but I thought about how you’d want me to live. Don’t get me wrong, because it was _the_ worst feeling I ever endured . . . you know those initial few seconds when they tell you someone you loved died, and your heart races and your eyes water and you feel a weight on your chest like a panic attack is about to come? It was that, but _all_ the time. Those few seconds when I fell felt like forever. I was scared for a whole new reason, then.”

Keith pressed his hands to the balcony. He closed his eyes through the force of his concentration, while the rain swept through him as if he were immaterial, and – with a faint smile – Shiro was sure he saw a tear fall down his cheek. The uniform he wore was just like any other student, but he was so much more different than any of student inside the Garrison, and it was his passion and intelligence that set him apart from the rest. Shiro collapsed forward and wept. He hung his arms over the railing and rested his head on the metal.

“I was afraid maybe things would have improved,” said Keith. “I was afraid that people who loved me would be hurt by what I did. I was afraid you would hate me from beyond the grave. It made me feel like I was selfish and stupid and worthless, which only reinforced the idea that I was doing the world a favour, but – at the same time – I _knew_ it was the depression and that this wasn’t me thinking those things. Shiro, this isn’t _you_ either.”

“I just want you with me, Keith,” pleaded Shiro. “I don’t know if this sadness defines me, but I know it’s a _part_ of me nonetheless, and how can I make that go away? I see everyone else so happy and they make it seem so easy, so seamless . . . Katie and Matt are so happy together, they kiss and hug and touch and – and – and why can’t I have that?”

“Oh, Shiro . . .”

“I think they broke me in captivity.” Shiro buried his hands into his hair. “They took a part of me that I’ll never get back, but with you I feel complete . . . you give me back that hope and happiness and you understand me. Why does everyone I love have to die?”

Shiro wept as slid downward. The floor was hard and cold against his knees, as the puddle of rain soaked through his trousers, and he gripped the bars of the railing until his knuckles turned white, while he looked through the bars with tear-stained eyes. The metal poles left indents against his skin from the pressure, while Keith knelt beside him with tears in turn. It grew ever colder, made worse by the severe weight loss, and Shiro collapsed onto his side.

“It’ll be okay, Shiro. I promise.”

No more words were exchanged. Shiro could feel Keith beside him, as his hands hovered over his form with an attempt to tough him, but there was only the loneliness . . . _no hugs, no touches, no kisses_. . . Shiro rolled onto his back, as he stared at the sky with half-lidded eyes and parted lips. The rain struck at his face, merging with his tears, as his hair stuck to his skin slick with water, and – lifting his hand high – he tried to reach the sky above and found only a shadow cast across his face for his trouble. He half-wept and half-laughed, as he whispered: “It’ll never be okay . . .”

* * *

Shiro curled up beneath his desk. He rocked back and forth, as the darkness blinded him too all else in the cluttered office, and – as he buried his hands into his air – tears merged with sweat to sting his eyes and blur his vision. Panic washed over him. He struggled to keep his hands open, as his fingers closed without his intent, and soon they gripped so hard into his hair that pain shot through every nerve on his scalp. Shiro choked on the air.

There was a discomforting sensation of pins and needles, while something seemingly crawled over his flesh, and every breath led to further hyperventilation. Bright spots appeared over his eyes, as he continued to rock with low moans of pain. Shiro grew light-headed. He collapsed to the side of the desk, as he gulped down air and panted for breath, while a heavy sweat broke over his skin and he trembled all over. It wouldn’t stop. _The pain wouldn’t stop_! Shiro listened to his pulse pound in his ears, while he let out a loud cry of pain.

“I’m sorry,” gasped Shiro. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Shiro wept. The tears rolled down his cheeks and onto his lips, where they tasted salty and were wet to the touch, and soon snot and saliva ran down his face, until he lost all dignity with a broken laugh that hurt his chest. He screamed out and beat at his head, while he yanked and tugged at his hair, and soon he pulled his hands back to see clumps of hair and blood, until he struggled to remain upright even with the desk for support. Shiro laughed over and over and over. The sound was manic . . . lost . . . distorted. Shiro gasped:

“I can’t do this . . .”

* * *

Shiro took in a deep breath.

The staff room was empty, even as both sets of doors lay open. Shiro walked across the plain tiles half in a daze, as he swayed from side to side and lifted a trembling hand to his forehead, where he strove to block the sun from his sight. The sunbeams struck hard on the glass panes of the staff room windows, as well as reflected from the tiles underfoot. It left painful after-images on the back of his eyes, as he gave a shaky smile through broken laughter.

He stopped once he reached the railing. Two hands pressed themselves on the cold metal, while he leaned forward to look downward, and there – at the very bottom – he saw the spot where Keith once fell . . . _just a few seconds, it’ll all be over_. . . a cool breeze blew through the air, rustling his hair and catching at his freshly laundered uniform. A sense of closure washed over him, as finally there was a solution to all his problems. _A way out.  Peace._ Shiro could almost reach out to the spot where Keith died, half-certain he could see blood . . .

“Forgive me, Keith,” whispered Shiro.

Shiro swung his legs over the rail. He stood on the very edge of the balcony, with hands gripping the metal until knuckles turned white, and – with a burst of adrenaline – his heart raced loud in his chest and he leaned forward as much as he dared. The breeze caught at his clothes, while he looked down and strove not to think too hard on the ‘what if’ scenarios . . . he would finally be with Keith, he would finally not be alone . . . he smiled and swallowed hard the bile that burned the back of his throat. A foot slid on the stone.

It brought a gasp from his lips, as his stomach rolled and grew cold. A part of him longed to be rescued . . . _just one ‘stop’, just one ‘are you okay’ . . ._ he held back tears and screwed shut his eyes, desperate to finally stop the pain even as he wanted so much to live, but life without Keith barely seemed a life at all. He let go of the railing with one hand, as he laughed through choked sobs and reached out to no one and nothing. Shiro whispered:

“Forgive me.”

Shiro let go with his other hand. He swayed on the ledge, with the railing just behind him, while the tears rolled freely over his cheeks and lips, and – with a trembling smile – he swung one leg out into the air, where he let it waver without any purpose. It would only take one step . . . _nausea overcame him, dizziness overtook him_. . . Shiro drew in a deep breath, before he lifted his head high and finally stepped off the edge. The rush of air around him reminded him that he was alive, until the crush of the pavement proved that he wasn’t.

The world ended.

* * *

_Shiro smiled._

It was difficult to see from a distance. The whiteness of his teeth shone bright, while the lines about his eyes deepened, and there was a flush to his cheeks from laughter, as Keith – dressed in his students’ uniform – pulled at his arm with tears of laughter. No bruises. No blood. They both looked as if they were in the peak of life, so that Shiro even bore hair black as night and his arm was clearly natural and pure muscle. Coran smiled at the sight.

He sniffed and scratched at his nose, as he turned his back to the window. A few stray cherry blossoms drifted in through the window, bringing with them a beautifully sweet scent, and one – with a graceful descent – dropped onto the box before Lance. The office was filled with Shiro’s personal possessions and work materials, and Lance had been kind enough to volunteer to help Coran box everything up, but every item only seemed to bring tears from both men, as memories flooded to the forefront of their minds.

Coran chanced a glance back to the building beyond. The balcony to the staff room no longer was accessible, with the door now bricked off and plastered over, while the patio below bore a beautiful garden with a stone bench. Shiro and Keith sat together, sometimes disappearing from sight until Coran was forced to squint, and he looked away with a smile until Lance let out a long sigh. Lance held an old photograph of Shiro in his hands, as he whispered:

“I still can’t believe they’re gone.”

Coran winced and touched at the computer monitor. The dust that gathered marked a passage of time that made his stomach churn, while the books piled beside spoke of Shiro’s lingering obsession . . . _Haunted Homes, Paranormal Investigations, Ghosts and Legends_. . . Coran refused to open a single page, even snapping the books shut whenever Lance opened them out of a morbid curiosity of their contents. He navigated through the mess of boxes and knelt beside Lance with a creak of his joints, as he cracked his back and neck with a groan.

Lance smiled and handed him a small figure; it was a black lion made out of plastic, which could have been wrenched from the pages of a children’s comic, and clearly was saved from Shiro’s childhood to pass onto a child that would never exist. Coran wiped away a tear with his gloved hand, before sliding the lion into a small box for Lance to keep. The rest of the possessions would be divided between Shiro’s family and the school.

“Shiro was my hero,” whispered Lance.

“I know, my lad. I know.”

“They told me Keith looked up to him, too.” Lance winced. “I always felt like I was living in the shadow of a ghost, you know? Like, I didn’t _earn_ my place on the course. I just got it because some kid decided to off himself, so everyone looked at me like I was just some shoddy replacement, but Shiro always saw me as a person. He was good to me.”

“He was good to me, too.” Coran chuckled with a smile. “I’m just like you, Lance. I know what it’s like to smile when you’re sad and push people away when you’re scared, especially when you’re just the comic relief character in the story of your life, but Shiro –”

“He always respected you,” Lance finished.

“Shiro was a good man. I always felt like a main character when he was around, enough that I started to take chances and be more confident, and – well – I’m glad I did because I feel so much better for taking control over my life. He made so many others happier, too. I see how Katie and Matt are wearing matching rings, just like I see how Hunk has a scholarship to the world’s best culinary school, and he _inspired_ them to be the best they could be.”

Lance laughed and soon choked on the sound. Coran let his tears fall free, as he reached out to put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed with great affection, and – as a few students walked past the open door – they both looked down at Shiro’s possessions with a lingering sadness that would forever remain in their lives. The students that passed by would pause, either bowing their heads in respect or muttering apologies to the two men inside, and life went on with a large Shiro-shaped hole that no one could fill. Lance murmured:

“How’d you cope, Coran?”

The breeze blew ever harder, while branches from the tree tapped against the open panes of glass, and – with a comforting rustle of leaves – a new array of flowers drifted inside, with one landing between them. Coran and Lance both reached for the flower. _Hands touched_. Lance removed his hand with a deep blush on his cheeks, while Coran swore he could hear Keith laugh from somewhere close to them. He shook his head and chirped out:

“I like to imagine they’re still with us.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” Coran smiled. “Shiro claimed to see spirits, Lance. He would see Keith all the time, until he started forming a relationship with him, and – at the time – I thought maybe he was under a lot of stress and just needed some time off work, but now I think I see it, too. Let me show you, Lance. Look out the window and tell me what you see . . . by the balcony . . .”

“Where they fell? I’d rather not, it feels a bit morbid.”

Coran rolled his eyes with a smile. He awkwardly stood upright, while he blushed to see how easily and quickly Lance stood in comparison, and – once finally on his feet – yawned behind his hand and jerked his head in the direction of the window. They walked with slow movements over to the window, although Coran struggled to climb over the boxes that littered the dusty floor. The sun shone bright and warmed their skin.

Lance leaned his hands on the windowsill, as he closed his eyes and lifted his head high, and the sunlight caught his dark skin and gave it a handsome glow, until he finally grew aware of his surroundings and followed Coran’s pointed finger toward the new garden. He clearly was unaware of Shiro and Keith, although Coran also failed to see them, and – lately – he was seeing them less and less with every day, as if they were. . . drifting into a better place. A few flowers grew stray and wild in the midst of the freshly manicured grass. Lance asked:

“Is that -?”

“They’re two types of flower,” observed Coran. “Iverson had been pulling them up, but they kept growing back and – eventually – he decided to rip the patio up and turn that patch of land into a memorial garden. A red flower and black flower both intertwined.”

“I didn’t even know you could get black flowers.”

Lance leaned on his forearms and let out a long hum of contentment. The breeze caught at his brown hair, while a flower caught on a stray lock, and Coran reached out to take it in his hands and pull it away, which brought a blush to Lance’s cheeks. They looked down below to see Matt and Katie stealing a kiss behind a far wall, while Shay and Hunk laughed hand-in-hand with a group of friends, and Coran wondered whether so many couples . . . so happy and so perfect . . . would have been together were something not in the air.

“I think they’re together in death,” said Coran.

A silence fell between them, comfortable and yet awkward. The students would be letting out soon for their break, while Coran wondered whether Allura would be sneaking dates with the latest substitute teacher, and – as Coran struggled to remember the name – he felt certain the word ‘Lotor’ came to mind. Lance spun around with a sigh and leaned his head to look up at Coran, where he licked at his lips with a nervous smile, as he asked:

“Do you think they’re finally happy?”

“Oh, I know they are, Lance.”

A flower drifted through the air and landed just a few inches from Lance’s hand, while a male voice laughed not far away and Coran jumped to see a face reflected in the windowpane, one with black hair and dark a familiar smile, and – with a soft chuckle – he _knew_ Shiro was playing Keith’s games . . . no longer were they alone, no longer did they suffer . . . they were together in a world meant just for them. Coran took the flower and bought it to his lips, where he breathed deep and watched as Shiro disappeared for the last time. Coran whispered:

“They’re happy, Lance.”

 

 


End file.
